


A Sympathetic Contract

by tb_ll57



Series: The Unreachable Stars Series [2]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, post - endless waltz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tb_ll57/pseuds/tb_ll57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>'You're sad,' Quatre observed. 'I thought we'd cured you of that a while back.'</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sympathetic Contract

The violist hit another sour note. Zechs made a face. Third one in the set.

'Who paid them?'

Zechs made a noise of agreement into his drink. Then turned his head to see who had spoken. He swallowed his mouthful of scotch quickly, and stretched out a hand. 'Duo Maxwell. I didn't know you were here.'

'Yeah. Hey.' Maxwell shook with him. 'What's up, man.'

'Enjoying the party. Somewhat less than more.' On the dias at the head of the ballroom, the flautist came in late for the coda. Maxwell screwed his mouth to the side. 'It's for charity,' Zechs said.

'For the musicians or for the sick little kids?' Maxwell laughed at his own joke, and swigged his bottled beer. Where he'd got a bottled beer, Zechs didn't know; it hadn't been on offer at the bar. It looked much more apetizing than the watery scotch he'd been drinking.

'Here alone?' Zechs asked at last, when they'd progressed to the standing in awkward silence stage.

'Naw, there's, like, a group of us from work.' Maxwell finished his beer and handed the bottle off to a passing server. 'I'm a Sweeper. Don't know if you know that.'

'I didn't, no.' Maxwell was sneakily removing another bottle from inside his tuxedo jacket. Smart. 'I assumed you were a Preventer, actually,' he said, a laboured effort to add something, anything intelligent.

'Sometimes,' Maxwell shrugged. 'When they need shit. Bang-bang, shoot-em-up. I pilot like whoa.' He toasted Zechs with his beer. 'How's the prince stuff? Going, um, well?'

'I think so. Well enough. I haven't offended anyone too much lately.'

Maxwell laughed at that. 'Progress.'

'Of a sort.' He finished his own drink, but kept the tumbler for camoflauge. 'Did you ever see her again? My sister?'

'Who, Relena?' Maxwell laughed again. It had a loose quality, a couple of drinks toward tipsy and enjoying it. Zechs envied him. He might be doing well enough in his princely role, these days, but it would never sit naturally, and he was wise enough to know the fault was his own. 'You mean since when?' Maxwell asked.

'Her birthday party. A few years ago.'

'What, because we danced? I guess. Our paths don't exactly cross.'

'That's too bad. I think she liked you.'

'Girls always like the guy who's different. But they marry the guy like their dad.' Maxwell glanced about them, and passed him a beer on the sly. 'Quat's here. Speaking of that.'

'Speaking of--' He looked at the label, wiping damp on the dark fabric of his trousers before that registered. 'Quatre? Winner?'

'I think that's his current alias.' Maxwell tapped the side of his nose. 'Hey, is there food at this thing? I need some protein stat. Chewing might drown out the sound of that crap, too.' He didn't wait for an answer. He wandered off, seemingly directionless, and not toward the very obvious buffet in back.

Well. At least he'd left a little liquid courage behind him. Zechs tilted back the beer and took a large swallow. Dark, chocolatey porter. He swallowed again, and turned to face the crowd. It didn't take long. Once he knew to look, he couldn't believe he'd missed it before. That bright head of blond hair all but carried its own spotlight. That, and Quatre had come in white tie. He literally shone amid a sea of black-clad notables.

Zechs wet his throat a final time with the beer as he approached slowly. The crowd was not thick, specially so near the musicians at the stage. He gathered himself with a deep breath, and leant down.

'Hello, Pookie,' he murmured.

Quatre was already grinning as he turned. 'Hullo,' he replied lightly. 'Fancy meeting you in a place like this.'

'It's my party.'

'Is it?' Quatre feigned surprise, but his eyes were still smiling, bright blue looking up the distance between them. 'You need a better party planner. Hire the university orchestra next time. They're far better.'

'You're not the only one to express such a sentiment.' He flicked the red carnation in Quatre's lapel. 'Special occasion?'

'Punch all down the front of my regular tux. It's at the cleaners.' The group Quatre was standing with moved on, leaving him behind, and Quatre didn't watch them go. Despite himself, Zechs felt warm at that. 'You look good,' Quatre said.

'So do you. The hair is nice.' There was a new little crinkle at the corner of Quatre's eyes, a line slightly deeper beside his mouth when he smiled. 'I-- feel I should say this earlier rather than later,' Zechs told him. 'I heard about your fiancé. I'm sorry.'

The little line faded along with Quatre's smile. 'I forgot that about you,' he said. 'You always leap in with both feet.' He heaved a deep sigh suddenly. 'Is that one of Duo's beers? Give me a sip?'

'If you like.' He handed over the bottle. And told himself it did not at all make his stomach tighten to watch Quatre's lips touch the same spot he had. Quatre drank. 'I didn't... I hope I didn't upset you. I just meant that I was sorry to hear about your situation.'

'Thank you.' Quatre pressed his arm, a brief touch of his skin to Zechs' sleeve. Zechs twitched his fingers, and tried not to. 'Would you mind a walk? It's so stuffy in here. And those musicians really are quite awful.'

Zechs barked out a laugh. 'A thousand apologies. I wouldn't mind a walk at all. The beach?'

'That would be lovely.'

It was largely silent between them as they departed the ballroom and headed through the castle corridors for the outdoors. They walked close together, whether by design or default Zechs didn't know and couldn't decide. Their footfalls were muted by the thick red carpet beneath their shoes, until they hit the marble of the grand verandah, then the coral gravel of the garden, and then the sand of the beachfront absorbed all noise again. The moon was full overhead, throwing a blueish light over the roaring waves. Sanq had its beauty, and even Zechs was occasionally inclined to see it. It helped to have the right company.

He'd missed this man. It had been years since they'd met in this palace, years since they'd stood on this beach together-- sat, actually, not far from where they walked now. He'd been self-absorbed and probably depressed and not a little convinced that the dire entropy of his life was the fully-deserved result of daring to survive the wars that ought to have killed him. Enter Quatre Winner. Who had made him smile, made him laugh. Saved him from himself. He'd missed the light Quatre Winner brought with him. Even in its diminished form.

'What happened?' he asked.

'Hm?' Quatre returned the beer, as if just reminded. He pulled apart his bowtie and stiff collar, and put his hands in his trouser pockets.

'With your fiancé. I didn't read--' He stopped himself with only one foot in that mess. 'Just saw the headlines.'

'Nothing happened,' Quatre answered. His tone was light, but his face was still, and Zechs did not mistake that for anything other than steely control. No, not the same Quatre Winner who'd rescued him on this beach before. That Quatre hadn't carried this weight with him. 'We both agreed to call off the wedding. It was the right thing.'

'Bull,' Zechs guessed bluntly. 'No-one who calls off a wedding is as calm about it as you're acting. You are acting.'

Quatre's head turned away as they strolled, toward the water. 'Duo says to fake it til you make it.'

He brushed his shoulder against Quatre's. 'No-one's here to see but me. It's all right to be upset. Angry.'

'No.' Quatre finally looked up to smile. 'He's not a villain. He's just a boy. I was ready. He wasn't. That's all right, too.'

Zechs dangled the beer from his fingertips. He shook his head. 'You humble me,' he said.

'Do I? How?'

'I'm not sure I'd be that kind in your situation. In fact I'm quite sure I wouldn't be. If I was in love, and jilted like that.'

'Maybe. I don't say it's easy. But it's when it's hardest that it's most important to be kind.'

Zechs closed his eyes and lifted his face to the moon. 'Bull,' he said again. 'Not even you're that good-hearted.' He made himself chuckle, to show he was only joking, but his throat felt oddly tight. Quatre only shrugged, and Zechs finished the beer in a quick harsh swallow. 'You probably are. It just makes me feel worse. Tell me it has nothing to do with our being friendly.'

Quatre echoed his laugh softly. He took the bottle, and bent to place it in the sand. He took Zechs' hand next, curling his own around it. 'It might have had something to do with our being sometimes more than friendly. But not with this. This is just two people who like each other, despite the reasons not to. Isn't it?'

Not in that moment. In that cruel moment he wanted more than like. But it wasn't on offer. It hadn't really ever been. Zechs was the one who had the wild swings of emotion, of loyalty. Quatre was a steady burn, the consideration of logic. Kindness took sustained effort. Zechs expended too much energy in rage and despair for that.

'You're sad,' Quatre observed. 'I thought we'd cured you of that a while back.'

'I'm not. I'm sad for you.' He tugged his hand free, but soothed the rejection by placing his hand at Quatre's back. 'Did you come with Duo? He said he was here for work.'

'I bought invitations as part of my donation and gave them to his company. You've changed the subject.'

'I have. Not cleverly enough, apparently.' They approached a tangled pile of driftwood, and went separate ways around it. Zechs watched Quatre walk, wondering. The carnation in his lapel was falling out. 'How's your company?'

'Terribly dull.' Quatre cocked his head. 'Owning a company doesn't really mean anything, you know. I have my own letterhead. Very quaint cards to give away. I headline the shareholders meetings and I make speeches about innovation drivers and diversity outreach and employee morale. They don't let me make decisions.'

'I can't imagine you're content with that.'

'Can't you? I haven't any relevant experience. I'm genetically related to vast bank accounts. That's all.'

'It's odd, isn't it. To have done what we've done, and find that--'

They met again on the other side of the driftwood. Waves swept up, the tide coming in, nearer every time. Quatre faced him, though, halting there with the water lapping at his shoes, waiting for him to finish.

'Sometimes it swamps me,' Zechs said. 'How much time yawns before me. I'm thirty this year, you know. Only thirty. I feel ancient some days, and other days I realise I have a whole lifetime yet to live. And I have no idea how to fill the time.'

'Thirty.' Quatre touched a button on Zechs' shirt, twisting it. 'You don't look a day over twenty-nine.'

'Don't flirt.' He caught Quatre's hand away. 'Or don't flirt poorly. I don't look a day over twenty-eight and you know it.'

Quatre's laugh was fuller at that, coming from the belly and emerging richly. 'Let me flirt honestly then. Or do I misapprehend what we're doing out here? The moonlight, the night air, the privacy... fill at least tonight with me.'

'I didn't-- I--' Quatre's fingers were twining with his. 'I truly didn't--'

'Bring me out here to seduce me. I know. You're not the type. And I'm the one who suggested it, anyway. But allow me to be seduced, no matter how it happened. The way you look at me could melt harder hearts than mine.'

His mouth was impossibly dry. 'How do I look at you,' he asked, and wished it hadn't come out so-- husky. He sounded like a man trying to seduce a lover. God knew he was tempted.

Anyway, Quatre was a few plays ahead of him. No more words. No wheedling. And no games. He just closed the distance between them in a single step, put his hand on Zechs' jaw, and stood on his toes to kiss him.

Well. If he was going to lose the argument, he could at least do it with grace. As Quatre's lips left his, he turned his head to brush his mouth over the nearest knuckle. 'You'd better come along, then,' he said, reasonably level. 'As it's getting late.'

'Good. You're not going to fight me on it.'

'I will. In the morning, when you remember you're hurting.'

He caught the flicker of doubt. Quatre was quick to suppress it, but he saw. He helped Quatre cover for it, leaning down for another kiss.

'Come on,' he said gently. 'The suite's in the same place as last time.'

 

**

 

'Have someone liaise with the hotel and bring back Mr Winner's bags,' Zechs requested. 'And could someone please bring breakfast to us in the morning?'

_'Of course,'_ Rainey replied, absolutely unruffled at the implication in that order. _'Although the Princess has asked me to pass along her invitation to join her in the Orangery at eight if your guest would be so inclined.'_

'I'll pass it,' Zechs said, dubious about the wisdom of that. It didn't hurt anything for him to have a private overnight 'guest', here and there-- very here and there-- but bringing Relena into it might very well draw the wrong kind of attention. That, and Quatre was-- his.

'Thank you,' he said hastily, and hung up the service phone.

'You've redecorated,' Quatre said, behind him.

He turned. Quatre had seated himself on the low leather couch before the large marble fireplace. 'The historic commission,' he murmured. 'I asked for something more modern. They were amenable. Within budget.'

A brief movement of Quatre's mouth might have been a smile. With the lights low, there was too much shadow to read his face. Whatever minute expression might have rested there. 'Is the bedroom any different?'

He lit candles, for the scent of them, vanilla and tobacco, warm sandalwood. They shed only a minimal yellow glow, enough to limn pale skin. Quatre kissed his chest as each shirt button was opened, and Zechs stroked the long muscles of his back, pulled Quatre's arms to drape about his shoulders, allowing himself to relish it. Quatre was the one who moved it along, and Zechs went willingly with his pace, knowing it would ultimately end as it had to; Quatre might regret it in the morning, and might not, but he realised now that Quatre had come to the party with no other intention but seeing him. Duo Maxwell had been relatively clear on that point, shoving them at each other. So they went to the bedroom, Quatre leading, but Zechs following uncoerced.

Someone had been in to turn down his bed. They littered the carpet with their remaining clothes, Quatre crouching at his feet to help with his dress stockings, he returning the favour, arching an eyebrow when Quatre wiggled his toes like a reluctant child. 'Patience,' he cautioned.

'Nerves,' Quatre answered, with just an undercurrent of tension beneath his calm facade. He dragged his fingers through Zechs' hair as Zechs rose. 'I still haven't-- I--'

'What?' He pushed and kissed at the same time, and Quatre ended out on the edge of the bed. 'Tell me.'

'You have... you have things we could use?'

He opened the door to the bath and turned on the light. Looking back, he found Quatre looking not at him, but staring toward the window, where the moon made a square of eerie white on the silk drapery. Zechs ducked into the ensuite long enough to search the cupboard. He returned with a small basket, and placed it beside Quatre's bare thigh.

Quatre overturned the little bottles in it. 'Did your staff make this? It's like a little hotelier gift, isn't it. Everything you might need to entertain a gentleman.'

'I think the theory is that they'd rather provide it than have to have me request it by phone. I can't precisely walk into the corner pharmacy and buy my own anymore.'

'If ever you could.' Quatre found a bottle that satisfied and removed the lid to sniff it. 'This is what it's like here for you, isn't it. Every need anticipated. Mints on the pillows. Lubricant in the cupboard.'

'I've come to terms with the fact that my life is never going to be even what it was when I was an OZ officer,' he admitted. 'But at the moment--' He took the bottle from Quatre, put his hand on Quatre's shoulder, and gently pushed until Quatre took his meaning and lay back, biting his lip against a smile. 'I can't say I mind.'

The kissing was sweet. He enjoyed the feel of their bodies pressing together, the way Quatre's skin warmed under his. Quatre nipped with his teeth, and arched his neck, and shivered when Zechs stroked him. Fingertips crept down his spine, the dip of the small of his back, curved over his rump. For himself, he rediscovered things he'd forgot since the last time they'd done this, before there had been fiancés. Occasionally more-than-friendly-- very, very occasionally. Three times, spread over a handful of years. As affairs went, there was little enough to it. But the crease behind Quatre's knee, the line of hair between his pectorals and circling his navel, the way he curled in anticipation every time Zechs got close to where that line of hair ended-- all of it was a delightful surprise to rediscover.

But then Quatre rolled them. They sat together in the middle of the bed, sheets bunched around them, Quatre straddling his lap. Quatre's hands roamed his neck, his shoulders, up into his hair. It was intimate in a way they'd never been, in a relationship that had never been anything but emotionally and physically naked, stripped of all reservations. They rested, cheek to cheek, as Zechs opened a prettily packaged prophylactic, and after it that bottle Quatre had selected.

It was slow. As Quatre had called it, gentlemanly. If Quatre seemed unsure, Zechs attributed it to that sadness he'd glimpsed at the beach. Lost love. He knew he wasn't a replacement for that. They had an understanding, and he was glad of it. He tried to express that, wordlessly, looking after Quatre's pleasure first, taking the time to build it high and relishing the moment when it finally came, Quatre's arms tight about him, head buried in his neck, body shaking. He whispered little words, nothing important, but Quatre nodded as if he agreed. They kissed again, slowly, just enjoying it. He stretched Quatre out on the bed, mouthing his chest, pulling his arm out against the sheet, kissing the inside of his elbow, his wrist, his palm. Quatre wrapped him tight with both legs, slick making them slide against each other.

'Love you,' Quatre gasped, just as Zechs orgasmed. Zechs blinked sweaty hair from his eyes, breathing hard. He swallowed drily, wondering if he should answer. If it were better to pretend he hadn't heard. Quatre couldn't possibly mean it, and might not even realise he'd said it. Or who he'd said it to. His eyes were closed.

In any event, he let it go too long. He cleared his throat and shifted sideways, easing out of Quatre and onto his side on the bed. He sat up for the pitcher of water at the bedside table, sloppily pouring two glasses. He drained his, but Quatre only sipped once, and let the glass sit on his belly.

'All right?' he asked eventually.

'Yes.' Quatre smiled, but it was brief, a muscle movement, not an emotion. He found Zechs' hand without opening his eyes and squeezed it. 'You?'

'Yes. Thanks.'

This time he got a laugh. 'For asking, or for the sex?' He sipped his water again and leant off the bed to put the glass on the carpet below. Then he pulled up the sheet and draped himself in it. And Zechs. 'Could I have an extra pillow?'

'Here.' Zechs got another for himself, as well, chewing the inside of his cheek and wondering. 'Stay,' he said finally.

'Shall I?'

'I think you want to,' Zechs pointed out. 'I think you came to the party hoping I'd ask. I think you want a place away from home. A hide-away from everything happening back on L4.'

'And that's a good enough reason to offer.'

'No.' He brushed a blond lock from Quatre's forehead. 'I'm asking because I want you to stay.'

Quatre looked up. Zechs held his eyes.

'Then I will,' Quatre said. 'Zechs. Thank you.'

 

**

 

They waited on breakfast with Relena for three days, but Zechs gave in on Wednesday. They could only hole up in his suite for so long, after all, and Quatre and Relena were friends outside of whatever business he and Quatre had together, so it seemed churlish to ignore her courtesy.

He felt better about the decision when he saw them together. Much as they'd made of their time together, Quatre looked happy out in company, laughing with Relena about shared memories. They ate on an east-facing balcony overlooking the water, catching both the morning breeze and the bright morning sun. Though Relena was usually busy with state affairs, she lingered for them, first drawing out the croissants, then the coffee, then calling for a plate of jellied shortbreads just to prolong their time together. Zechs didn't mind. He didn't even mind when the conversation eventually left him out altogether, because it was enjoyable just to watch their evident delight in each other. They didn't live a life in which they often got to simply sit with friends, as normal people surely did. It was good to snatch a moment when it could be had.

But that moment eventually ended. The staffer hovering at the door was joined by another, then another, and finally by Relena's chief of staff, a woman with a permanently impatient frown stamped on her forehead. Relena sighed on seeing her.

'I've actually got a few calls I should answer,' Quatre excused her. 'I've been playing Awol these past few days. I need to be scolded.' He rose from the table, and kissed Relena's cheek. 'It's been wonderful. We shouldn't wait so long between visits.'

'I absolutely agree.' Relena smiled fondly at him as he ducked discreetly toward the door. She transferred that gaze to Zechs. 'I hope he'll finish out the week with us. We could do dinner on Friday.'

'I'll ask him.' Zechs dabbed his mouth with his napkin and set it aside. 'You can abandon me for work. I won't mind.'

'It's just papers to sign.' Relena gestured, and her chief approached to lay a dossier on the table, along with a rather large pen. Relena sighed again, and began to sign everything tabulated. 'It really is a pleasure to see Quatre here.'

'I'm glad.' Zechs poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, more to have something to play with than because he wanted it. He took his time choosing the most perfectly square sugar cube, balancing it on the tiny silver spoon to dissolve. 'I agree.'

'Maybe he'll be here more often, now.'

'Don't fish, Relena.'

Her lips curved upward. She stole his coffee to drink from it, and flipped a page. Her pen moved smoothly. 'He's not married. It's perfectly acceptable. Good, even.'

'Good? Meaning I haven't embarrassed you with my associations.'

'Don't be cross with me. It's my job to think about it.' His sister paused to search for her eyeglasses, quickly supplied by her staffer. Relena put them on, and nodded, and with no more signal than that gained them privacy again. 'You know he's called off his marriage,' Relena said then, sitting back with her documents.

'I read the news. Two weeks ago. Almost three, now.'

'Did you know the fiancé?'

'No. Not even his name.' It struck him as a curious topic, even concerning someone who stood probably a mere fifteen feet inside. 'Why? Relena, just bluntly, please. This is too subtle for me.'

'Bluntly.' She tapped the pen slowly on the edge of the dossier. 'It's not a top-page story, but it's appeared in two publications. The press know he's here, with you.'

He didn't quite know how to react to that. 'Local press?' he ventured. 'Should I be worried? Should I be warning Quatre?'

'We have people trying to tamp down the story. The best response is usually no response, or distraction.' Relena reached across the table, not quite far enough to touch him. 'It's just a reality of our position. We can't smile at someone without causing speculation. It's not that the speculation is bad, in and of itself. People like Quatre. People like you.'

'Not as much as they like Quatre,' he guessed. He pushed a sugar cube off the tablecloth, and dropped his head back with a harsh exhale. 'I'm sorry. I wish I were easier with this. I'd like to say I won't always burden you with having to be the adult. But when I hear this sort of thing, I just want to-- I don't know. Hole up in a cave until all the annoyance blows over.'

'I think that's a perfectly understandable reaction.' Relena smiled. 'It will blow over. You're just highly eligible bachelors. Both of you. It's the sort of romantic picture that paints itself.'

'Maybe Quatre should head home, in that case.'

'Not necessarily.' She hesitated, then, playing with the pen. 'This isn't going to come out elegantly. I apologise in advance. I can't... He'd be a good match.'

Maybe he hadn't had enough coffee. It took a long minute to wring sense out of that. 'Marriage,' he said flatly. 'He'd be a good marriage.'

'You clearly like him. He's available. You're available.'

'And if I don't want to be married?' he demanded frostily.

'Then don't ask him,' Relena answered promptly, unruffled. 'Have you ever been pressured by anyone here? You can be single for life if that's what you prefer. But if you're moving toward a formal arrangement anyway, it's worth thinking about the reasons why.'

'The reasons? The reasons for bartering my personal freedom into state servitude? I abdicated my rights--'

'You're still a prince of this kingdom. You have as much personal freedom as anyone in our situation can have, which usually ends at the limits of the grounds.' Relena sat back in her chair, turning her face away from him. The wind blew her loose hair about her, and she tucked it behind an ear. 'Takeo Ikeda. He's an actor. Minor television roles. I think he plays a vampire doctor or something on _Day of the Dead_.'

'Who?' Zechs shook his head. 'I don't know what you're talking about. Or why I should care.'

'You attack when you're angry, you know.' She glanced back, but dropped her eyes again. 'Quatre's fiancé. It was a sweet story. They met at a party. Takeo was one of the catering staff. He hadn't got the part on the show yet. The press liked that story, too.'

'And that's how we live our lives now. By what the press like or don't like.' He made an effort to soften his tone. 'It's a hell of a way to live, Relena.'

'My point is that what's most important is sincerity. People see if you're happy. That matters.'

'As long as happy ends in marriage.'

'It's part of the role. You have duties. I have duties. One of us will have to marry. Marriages generally produce children, one way or another, and we'll need children, if we don't want the kingdom to end with us. Or a Parliament.'

He contained his frustration by pouring another cup of coffee. He watered it down with extra cream and drank it, the full cup, to give himself time. 'I assume there's a list of suitable mates, somewhere.'

'Yes,' Relena said. 'For both of us. And if Quatre were of a different persuasion, he would have been on my list. But he's been on yours since you first showed interest in each other. And you do like him.'

'Very much,' he said. He swirled the sludge in the bottom of his porcelain cup, watching the grinds wash against the sides. 'For the sake of argument. Not because I plan on doing anything about it. Why is he on the list? His money?'

'It's good that he has a personal fortune,' Relena murmured. She let a breath go between that sentence and the next, and their eyes caught as they looked at each other. 'But obviously most of that would be untouchable, for state purposes. It's minerals rights.'

'Minerals rights.'

'L4 is resource-rich, and Sanq isn't. Anything that got us preferred trade status in asteroid mining would be welcome. Quatre is the majority shareholder in Winner Enterprises.'

'There's dozens of majority shareholders out there. That's not enough.'

'Bluntly,' Relena said again, 'he'd be good for your reputation. He gets good press. You mostly get... neutral.'

'He's a Gundam Pilot. Bluntly.'

'That's not public knowledge.'

'For now. I'm not the only person from OZ who knows the truth. There are dozens, maybe even a hundred. It's entirely possible that it will come out one day. And that will not be good press.'

'Maybe internationally,' Relena nodded. 'But he was one of two Gundam Pilots who protected Sanq's borders during the war. He'd be venerated here.'

'Damn it, Relena!'

'Zechs.' She weathered his outburst with no visible flinch, but her hands did tighten on the arms of her chair. Remorseful, he shook his head, subsiding with his hand to his eyes, sure he felt a headache coming on. 'If you don't want to do it, don't do it,' Relena said. 'But, to be honest, I think he'd say yes to you. And I'd like to see you as happy as you've been these past few days on a permanent basis.'

There was nothing else to say. 'I'll consider it,' he told her, grudging even that much.

Relena looked away again. 'You should take a boat out on the water,' she said. 'It's such a nice day. Quatre's a pretty good sailor, for someone who prefers the desert.'

'Thank you for the suggestion,' he replied, and that was the last they said before Relena's staff came to fetch her away.

 

**

 

'God!' Zechs panted, the only appropriate invocation. He saw actual stars. The earth even moved-- or at least the boat rocked on the water, but he forgot where he was for a moment, and it had the feel of the revelatory.

Broken by a giggle. Quatre muffled his laugh in Zechs' bare belly. Zechs lifted a hand that felt impossibly heavy and managed a lazy caress of his mussed hair. 'What's funny?'

'My most holy sexual prowess is pretty hilarious, I'd say.' Quatre squirmed up his body and settled comfortably, tucking his head into place in the crook of Zechs' neck. 'Do you think it's a marketable skill?'

'Absolutely not for public consumption.' The press of Quatre's knee against his groin was most certainly not accidental. It was wonderfully pleasant though. He twined his fingers with Quatre, stroked the bare skin of his back. 'Don't get sunburnt. Laying here nude like this.'

'It would be hard to explain a sunburnt bum.' A wave slapped the side of the boat, and spray came over the rim, splashing them. Quatre squawked, and Zechs laughed. 'This is hazardous business.'

'We should have brought a bigger boat.' Zechs gave a groan as he stretched, and dragged himself upright onto the padded bench in back. Quatre took the precaution of wrapping himself in the towel they'd been laying on, tossing another from their bag at Zechs. He also found the bottle of champagne, making an impressed noise as he modeled it on his arm. Zechs shrugged his acquiescence. Cheese and crackers emerged, too. It was a thoughtful gesture on the part of some staffer. He just couldn't find it coincidental, given the conversation hours ago with Relena. He tried not to let his discomfort show on his face.

Quatre brought him a plastic flute filled with champagne, sprawling onto the bench beside him. 'This was a lovely idea,' he said, propping his head back on another bundled towel to gaze up at the bright blue sky. He had found a pair of dark sunglasses, as well, fashionable shades against the glare. 'I feel terribly pampered. You always live like this?'

'Only when you're here,' he said truthfully. 'I suppose I don't take advantage of it much alone. But you must have privileges on your colony.'

'I have a car and driver.' Quatre toasted him and drank. 'The driver's quite mean to me, really. He's a thousand years old and he won't take me downtown if he can avoid it, but he was my father's driver, and I'm moderately sure he was my grandfather's driver, and probably my great-grandfather's driver, he's so old. Mm. And I have a very thorough and expensive collection of Persian rugs.'

'Rugs.' Zechs laughed obligingly. 'That was a sound investment?'

'Someone thought so. I like furniture. They let me pick out furniture. And art. I have absolutely no idea what I'm buying, but I do enjoy buying it. I give a scholarship at a local art school.'

'You like doing things like that.'

'It's what monied people do, isn't it? Find ways to give small cheques to people deemed deserving.'

'You're in a peculiar mood.'

'A bit,' Quatre agreed, drinking again. His hand drifted down Zechs' thigh, beneath the hem of the towel. 'Forgive me. I don't want to sound ungrateful for my privileges. But sometimes I wish I could do other things. Be another person.'

Zechs finally drank from his flute. The champage was crisp and appley, if not quite cold, having been out in the sun on the boat with them for hours. 'Is that why your fiancé? Someone-- normal?'

'Keo?' Quatre's hand on him stilled, suddenly no longer playful. 'I don't know. I suppose.'

'I'm sorry,' Zechs said immediately. 'We don't have to talk about him. You came a long way to leave him behind.'

'I came a long way to give money at a party. Everything after that was bonus.' But Quatre seemed deflated. 'I pushed him,' he said. 'To get married. I was the one who wanted it.'

'That might have been how he represented it.'

'Meaning what?'

'Meaning... I don't know. Meaning people sometimes say one thing and... I guess they mean another.'

'He didn't. He had no need to.'

'He was a waiter.'

'An actor.' Quatre looked at him keenly. 'I thought you only read the headlines.'

Caught, he stared into his champagne, hoping for answers. 'Some headlines are more detailed than others.'

Quatre removed his hand, but only to change his position on the bench, pulling up his knees and holding them loosely to his chest. He dangled the flute against his calves, crossing his toes together. 'He talked to me,' he said. 'I was at a party. Like the one the other night. That's all my life is, you know. All lives like ours get to be. We have money, so we go from one place to another finding ways to spend it. He talked to me. He was funny. He had nicknames for all the party headliners, not nasty names, just-- funny. Chateau Lafite. Luxury Brand. Golden Parachute. He didn't know who I was, and it was nice to talk to someone person to person.'

'I'm sure it would be.' Zechs shaded his eyes with his hand. 'He truly didn't know who you were? Not even that you were a guest at the party?'

'Obviously that I was a guest.' Quatre shook his head. 'Did he approach me because I might have money? I don't know. But I believe him that he didn't know specifically who I was. He didn't have an agenda. That was nice.'

'Did you ever tell him?'

'Obviously.'

'No. I mean-- that you're a Gundam Pilot.'

Quatre looked at him. Or at least faced him head-on. His eyes were hidden behind those dark glasses, impenetrable. 'No,' he said. 'It never seemed-- needful. We agreed the past was behind us. It was who we were together that mattered.'

'Do you think it would have changed his mind?'

'We'll never know.'

'But if you thought it wouldn't have, you would have told him. I can't imagine you were anything less than totally truthful. In everything else.'

'Zechs. If he'd wanted anything from me, he would have married me and stayed long enough to qualify for maintenance. What is this about? Why the sudden interest?'

'I just wonder if you were really getting what you thought you were getting out of a marriage.'

'Companionship. Acceptance. Humour.'

'That's what you get from friends, Quatre. Not someone you're bound to for life. You didn't even have sex with him, did you.'

Quatre opened his mouth for what looked like a hot retort. It never came. He drank the rest of his champagne in studied quiet.

'You should get to be in love,' Zechs said. 'You deserve love.'

Quatre exhaled. He took Zechs' hand. 'Go raise the anchor,' he said. 'Let's sail a little.'

 

**

 

Quatre left on Friday morning.

'You sure you don't want anything for the flight?' Zechs asked him, helping him fold socks for his luggage. 'The staff could pack you a luncheon.'

'I'll just grab something at the port.' Quatre laid a pair of trousers atop the pile, and turned Zechs quickly by the chin to kiss him. 'Come to one of my parties next time. I don't have the view you do, but...'

'I'll come rushing up at the first invitation.' He brushed a wisp of hair into place on Quatre's forehead. 'I don't have to worry about you, do I?'

'Worry? What would you worry I'll do?'

'Sack your mean driver. Let Duo drag you to some terrifying Sweeper bar.'

'He's really terribly protective of me. Duo, of course, not the driver.'

'Don't be lonely.'

Quatre inhaled deeply. He let it out slowly, his eyes closed in concentration. 'I'll bear it in mind,' he said.

'Good.' Zechs sucked in his cheeks, turning over the words before settling on the ones he really wanted to say. 'You'll be all right.'

'Thank you.'

'Of course.'

'No. Not “of course”. Thank you. For this week. For--' Quatre bit his lip, and shrugged. 'Everything.'

'I'm very glad to be able to help you.'

'Maybe someday we could base our relationship on something other than mutual-- help.' Quatre considered him. He touched the lapel of Zechs' coat, straightening it. 'I think I've finally figured you out.'

'I didn't know you were trying.' He caught Quatre's hand. 'What did you figure out, then?'

'I thought it was honour. Never making a move on me that I didn't start for you.' Quatre brought Zechs' hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. 'I was wrong. You're a sentimentalist.'

Zechs blinked at that. 'You think I'm shallow?'

'Not at all. Sentimentality used to mean relying on one's feelings as a guide to a sublime truth.' Quatre zipped his bag. 'You do what you feel is right.'

'If I'm a sentimentalist, what are you, then?'

Quatre shouldered his bag. 'You'll have to come find out,' he said, and left Zechs with a final kiss.


End file.
